


Creperum

by selene42



Series: Creperum [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: HPFT, Vampire Harry, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selene42/pseuds/selene42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes one moment to change a fate, even unintentionally.  This moment came for Harry Potter on that Halloween night as he was held in her arms.  The path changed, the blood altered, sending him down the path unexpected...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anguish

Cold winds ripped at her bare arms and neck, her face stinging from the bitterness. It seemed like only moments ago that she had fled from the All Hollow’s Eve gala that was being hosted by a dear old friend. Behind her, she could hear her husband calling out her name running trying to reach her, yet still she ran, her pace frantic. It had been just moments ago that they had been gathered around the bonfires, the ladies dripping in their glittering jewels and fine evening gowns and the gentlemen with their cigars, reminiscing of old times long gone. A fine thirty-three year old French red was what she had been enjoying when she had felt it. A searing, agonizing pain that ripped through her heart. She remembered doubling over as though someone had struck her, her glass shattering upon the rough ground, before she gathered her skirts and ran for the darkness. Amadeus had heard the gasps and no doubt saw her run off, something so unlike her, but he did not understand. He could not understand; he was not a mother. Over the years they had wandered the earth together, so many children she had born him. Time had not kind been to their children, and she felt each of their deaths keenly in the way only a mother, and a grandmother, could feel. And, while they were not a direct child of her own womb, something terrible was happening to a child of her own blood and she must stop it.

“Rebecca! Rebecca, wait!” She could hear Amadeus, calling out. His heavier footsteps sounded like thunder in her ears.

She did not pause for him, her pace still frantic. Her usually upswept hair had loosened from its pins, hanging down her back in a heavy coil of braids, yet still she ran across the moors of Cornwall. How long had it been now? Minutes? Hours?

“Damn it, woman!” Amadeus cursed behind her. She could hear a loud thump as he hit the ground at his full speed. She spared him a glanced over her bare shoulder to assure herself he was fine. Rebecca could see her husband, sprawled across the damp grass where he had landed, mud and leaves on his face as he pointed towards her. As she turned her head to face forward once more, she felt the sudden tightening and locking of the muscles in her legs. Her legs locked together as rigid as a board, her speed pitching her forward sending her rolling down the small hill.

“Rebecca!” Amadeus called out to her as he jogged down the hill. She glowered at him, attempting to right herself and her clothes to a proper state. “Calm yourself, wife. What has come over you? Explain yourself!”

Rebecca batted his hands away from her, her chin held high in defiance. “There is no time for explanations,” she told him, rubbing her legs in attempt to loosen them without his magic. “I demand you release me at once, Amadeus!” She was quite sharp with him.

“Not without an explanation,” he retorted, standing tall above her. Rebecca’s chest heaved in indignation. She was not to be treated in such a high handed manner. “I’ve just spent time I should be spending enjoying myself with colleagues, chasing you halfway across Cornwall!”

Amadeus sighed, and reached down to pull a braid over her shoulder. “What are you trying to achieve, Rebecca?” He asked, her voice softer than it had been since he jinxed her.

Rebecca sighed in exasperation, ceasing her futile attempts of releasing her legs from his jinx. “It is James…something is wrong, terribly wrong,” she told him. The pain in her heart tightened at the implications of her words, yet she refused to acknowledge it. She would not give up hope, not just yet.

She could see Amadeus’ gaze soften at her words, understanding flickering through his warm hazel eyes. “Rebecca,” he spoke softly as he crouched down beside her, “James is a strong fighter and I’m sure he is well. It is just your nerves, dearest, over not being allowed to see them.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes at him, not appreciating his words no matter how well intended they were. She dug her fingers into the skirts bunched around her knees, willing them to become free so she could run again. “This is not my nerves,” Rebecca all but hissed at her husband. “Release me now, husband, I must see them. Something is wrong, for I feel it in my heart.”

“Come now, stop this nonsense,” Amadeus spoke once more, his large hands wrapping around her arms as he began to rise with her. “Let me take you home. You can’t see them, I explained the wards to -“

“I do not care about the bloody wards!” Rebecca snapped, not caring one bit about the vulgar language that had just slipped past her lips.

Amadeus stood straight and released her arms, startled that she had spoke so for she was a caring and docile woman. Rebecca did not lower her eyes however, staring down her husband’s piercing gaze. One way or another, she would run across the blasted island to Godric’s Hollow.

They continued to stare at each other for what felt an eternity to the partially paralyzed woman. The ache in her heart was fierce, and she would not relent. Amadeus reached down for her once more, pulling her to her useless feet. Rebecca was preparing to fight her husband tooth and nail if she must when she felt her legs relax, allowing her to support herself.

“Come wife,” Amadeus finally spoke, as he tightened his grip upon her bare arms. “Let me show you that all is well in the Hollow.”

His words were her only warning he gave her, before the terrible squeezing sensation pressed itself into her bones. She gritted her teeth and bore it with grace, they were on their way and she could do nothing but pray.

* * *

Rebecca wrenched herself from Amadeus’ grip the moment the village church was in her vision and the squeezing sensation had gone from her bones. She was running once more, leaving Amadeus to follow behind her yet again. The village was quiet, not even an autumn wind blew through the skeleton like branches above her. She knew in her heart it was too late. Only seconds passed by as she ran towards where she knew the concealed home would be. She had been there only twice, brought by dear James, since her Potter’s went into hiding. Not even Amadeus knew of these clandestine visits, and therefore could not see or find the house. Rebecca could do nothing but run through the village, ignoring the cries of her husband and the peculiar look one man gave as she ran past him like a ghost on the wind. She ran, braids and skirts flying with her, until she crossed the unseen threshold that was the Potter’s property.

Her heart shattered as she stood there, her eyes taking in the sight of the broken home before her, a sob slipping past her wind chapped lips. A section of the roof had collapsed inward, pieces of the beams still smoldering as the smell of charred wood hung heavy in the damp air. The window panes had exploded outwards, frosting the grass around her. There was no light, no life within the cottage walls. Only Lily’s curtains, blowing gently through the gaping holes where the glass once rested, greeted her in the night.

Rebecca’s knees bucked, the delicate palms of her hands bleeding when shards of glass dug into the flesh as she collapsed to the unforgiving ground. Her chest heaved, straining against her corset, as she tried to hold back the sobs tearing through her body. She could sense Amadeus behind her, searching for both her and the hidden home, but she couldn’t move to assist her. Every inch of her body was numb and held down with the weight of her ancient year. Clutching a hand to her throat, hysterical sobs echoing in the night, she reached through the charmed barrier and grasped her husband, pulling him through.

“By the gods,” Amadeus gasped, seeing the damage for the first time. “How did this…how…why…”

Rebecca could sense the grief in his own voice as he looked at the destruction of dear family. They had watched James grow from a rambling toddler to a brave young man, as he learned to live and love. They had fallen in love with Lily and welcomed her with open arms once she became accustomed to what they were. And their baby…oh how her heart further broke thinking of that precious boy.

Rebecca continued to stare up at the house as Amadeus knelt behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and holding her bleeding hands in his strong ones as a way to comfort her in her grief. “Come, my darling,” he murmured. “Let me take you away from here, you shouldn’t -“

Rebecca silenced him with a hiss, leaning towards the house so suddenly it unbalanced Amadeus to the ground. A noise had pierced the darkness of the house, pulling at heartstrings thought broken. Her eyes narrowed as she found the strength to stand, emboldened by the glimmer of hope. Surely not even to Gods were so cruel to give her hope. She breathed deeply, willing her heart to calm, as she searched in the silence. The sound of beating hearts were too unreliable, the next house being far too close, but…

“Harry,” Rebecca breathed as she sprung herself towards the house, leaving a startled husband behind her once more. She had heard the child’s cry and by the Gods she would find him.


	2. The Child

Rebecca sprung towards the house, Amadeus still on the ground in shock behind her. She used her hands to brace herself on the splintered doorframe, squeezing her body and heavy skirts through the narrow opening, standing within the destroyed cottage before Amadeus could call out her name. There was no need for her to pause and allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness within, she could see as though the sun was shining within these broken walls.

Scorch marks blackened the once light wallpaper, glass and porcelain crunching beneath her feet. These little signs served as proof of the horror her family had faced. Rebecca noticed with a brief moment of curiosity that the scorch marks pointed in only one direction. She brushed the strange discovery aside as she stepped and climbed over broken pieces of furniture; magic was not of her world. Her world, as of now, was reaching the crying child. She did not care that her gown was becoming ruined and riddled with tears. The pain radiating from her bleeding hands was ignored. All she cared about was the cries of the child that tugged at her heart and pulled her onwards through the destruction.

With haste, Rebecca dashed up the stairs not watching where she was stepping. Her boot clad foot tripped over something heavy and unyielding, forcing her to catch herself on the banister. She glanced down, expecting yet another piece of rubble from the cottage, only for her heart to squeeze with pain. Her dear and darling James, the boy who had brought laughter ringing once more into her home during the family’s summer visits, lay unmoving on the landing, his eyes opened wide in fright behind the thin wire frames. Oh how it broke her immortal heart to see him in such a state. Never again would his eyes shine with mischief.

“Oh my boy,” she cried softly, cupping his cold face in her bleeding hands as she knelt beside him. It was a blessing his parents passed before this day came, sparing them both from the grief she now felt. With gentle care, she slipped her fingers beneath his glasses and closed his eyes, before placing a small chaste kiss upon his brow. This was not the time for the dead. It was the living left behind that mattered. The child…

Rebecca continued up the stairs to the second floor, noticing for a brief second that the walls here, though cracked, were void of the scorch marks found below. While she had never been in the cottage sanctuary, she did not hesitate towards the room. The cries of the child were not the only indication of where she needed to be; the cries came from the only room with a door missing. Rebecca stepped over a fallen bookcase, slipping on the fallen children’s books, and into the room, her eyes sweeping over the destruction with every step. The once warm and bright nursery now resembled the carnage of The Blitz with broken plaster, brick and wood throughout the room; the roof above her had been blown away giving free access to the wind and stars. There, before her upon the rubble covered floor was the still body of the once vibrant Lily Potter. Rebecca covered her mouth with bleeding fingers, and she choked back a sob. The young woman had fallen beside the white, wooden cot, her left hand still touching the wood. Lily had died protecting her small child. Little Harry sat within the cot, pressed against the slats, reaching through towards his mother. His pudgy hand could just reach her slender one, as he cried out for her.

Rebecca stepped over Lily and slowly scooped Harry into her arms. “Shhh…hush my little one,” Rebecca soothed, holding him tight to her to her chest. Harry pushed against her, fighting to be put down. She choked back her own tears as he continued to cry out ‘Ma!’

“Your Mama is gone, little one,” Rebecca answered, smoothing Harry’s unruly hair—so much like his father’s—across his forehead in effort to comfort him. She knelt down beside Lily, letting Harry lean forward towards her. “I am so sorry, Harry,” Rebecca whispered, her lip quivering as Harry patted his mother’s cheek. “She loved you very much.”

“Rebecca!”

Rebecca continued to stroke Harry’s hair and cheeks, soothing the child. She could hear her husband on the stairs. “Be gentle,” she said, her voice soft. “Do not frighten Harry further. Oh Amadeus…”

The soft footfalls stopped at the empty door. Rebecca looked over her shoulder towards him, knowing the agony in his green eyes matched hers. Their family had broken even further this Halloween night.

“They were supposed to be protected,” Amadeus said, his voice strangled as he slowly took in the destruction of the nursery. “No one knew they had moved here. Not even we could visit…” She could see him swallow hard, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Where is the other body?”

Rebecca’s arms tightened around Harry as he settled back into her arms; his sobbing had quieted into hiccups as she continued to smooth his hair. She shook her head once in confusion. “He never made it here. James-”

“No,” Amadeus interrupted. “The Dark Lord. Where is his body?”

Rebecca looked quickly around the nursery, realizing now what he meant. In her haste to reach Harry, she never thought, never realized. “Did he escape?”

“…No,” Amadeus said after a moment, looking upwards through the broken roof. “He wouldn’t have left Harry alive. Something must have happened. The magic here is strong…too strong,” his voice trailed off. 

“Curse you and your magic,” Rebecca snapped, her chest heaving. “What good is magic when it failed James and Lily,” she asked, as she rose to her feet. She held Harry close to her chest, his little fingers gripping the fabric of her gown. Rebecca turned towards her husband, fighting to keep her voice, and temper, low so to not frighten Harry. “Magic failed them, failed their son,” she spat. “I will not allow magic to fail this child again, husband.”

Amadeus looked her straight in the eye, his face emotionless for the first time since she ran from the gathering. “No, Rebecca,” his voice was firm. “I can’t allow that, they won’t allow that.”

“I will not let them take this child, Amadeus.”

With each step Amadeus took towards her and Harry, Rebecca retreated another. “We have no choice, he is not our kind.”

“He is our blood, Amadeus. Our family!”

Amadeus reached for Harry; Rebecca twisted away from him, blocking Amadeus with her shoulder. Harry had begun to whimper from the tension radiating off the two vampires. “Lily and James will have named a guardian, Rebecca. See some sense, woman! Harry is a wizard, he falls under their protection now!” Amadeus’ expression softened for a moment as he reached a hand towards Harry. “He is bleeding,” he explained in a placating tone as Rebecca took another step out of her husband’s reach.

She looked down, noticing the blood matting Harry’s hair and upon his forehead. She took in the scent quickly, her heart slowing with realization. “It is mine,” she reassured, holding her hand out to show the wounds on her palm. “I did not realize right away, I was too focused on reaching Harry.”

Rebecca turned away from her husband’s gaze and reached for a blanket inside the cot, using it to dab away at the blood she had left on Harry. She smiled softly at him as he batted away the blanket, choosing to rub his face against her shoulder instead.

“Rebecca.”

“What is it?” Rebecca murmured, trying to wipe more of the blood away. When Amadeus didn’t respond, she glanced at him. She stopped trying to clean Harry, when she noticed that his wand was out; her grip tightened on Harry. “Amadeus?”

“Someone is coming,” Amadeus responded, nodding towards the broken window.

Rebecca took a slight step out of the shadows to look through the broken panes. She could see the figure of a man sprinting towards the cottage, a toppled motorbike behind him. “Amadeus,” she began to say, before she felt her knees buckle beneath her.

She held Harry to her as her knees hit the bricks beneath her, unable to move from that spot. Her eyes flashed with anger as her husband stepped towards her, reaching for Harry. “Do not, Amadeus,” Rebecca hissed at him, struggling to release her body once more from his magic. “You will not take him! I warn you husband-”

“He belongs with his kind, Rebecca!” Amadeus cut her off, fighting to pry her hands off Harry. Their voices never raised above a loud whisper. Rebecca’s heart was breaking as she fought to hold onto the crying child. “They’ll take care of him, you’ll see.”

“No, do not,” Rebecca said as she clawed at Amadeus’ hand. “We will take care of him – please Amadeus!”

Harry’s cries pierced the night as Amadeus pulled him from her arms. Her own cries joined his as she watched her husband return Harry to his cot.

“Do not do this, Amadeus,” Rebecca pleaded as she watched Harry reach once more through the slats. “He needs his family, we need him!”

Rebecca tried to wrench her arms from his grasp, desperately trying to reach the crying child. Amadeus said nothing as he Apparated them away from the cottage, and away from Harry. Her last sight was of him screaming with tears and reaching out, the sounds of a shouting man coming from the first floor.

* * *

Rebecca felt the jagged bricks changed to the hard stone floor of their entrance hall. Her sobs shook her body, echoing in the stillness, her arms aching for the child ripped from her. Harry’s cries rang in her ears, haunting her.

“It was for the best,” Amadeus murmured, as he rubbed the back of her shoulders; Rebecca felt the muscles in her legs relax as he released her from the bonds. “You’ll see in time, this was for the best.”

Rebecca stood to her full height and rounded on her husband, striking him across the cheek before he could blink. The slap echoed in the room; it felt as though the very air around them had stopped moving. Without sparing a glance at her husband, Rebecca turned on her heel and left the room for her chambers. Her silent wrath would speak volumes to her husband. He would avoid her until she calmed, and that suited her well. She had plans to make.


	3. Hope

The sleet tapped against the darkened window in a sharp staccato, the drizzle marring the reflection of the woman as she gazed out onto the grounds of her country home. Three nights had passed since the agonizing night she ran halfway across the island; three nights since she discovered the bodies. Three cruel nights since Amadeus ripped the child from her arms. Rebecca had locked herself in her rooms that night, hand still stinging from striking her husband, and had allowed only her lady’s maid and secretary access into her sanctuary. Amadeus was barred from her rooms, from her very presence until she chose differently.

For three nights, she worked in darkness and in silence planning and scheming. Amadeus watched for her to leave her apartments, so she sent her two trusted servants out in her stead. They gathered the pieces of the puzzle, bringing them to her, as her plan slowly fell into place. Scattered through the room behind her were the scattered remains of newspapers, special editions, and crumpled parchment. Each piece was evidence to the nights of begging, calling in favors, bribing, and blackmailing for the information she required. Each page of the gossip rags that called themselves newspapers were filled with rumors and fanatical theories. Boy-Who-Lived: Murdered. You-Know-Who Seen in Cardiff! Sirius Black, You-Know-Who’s Most Faithful. She had swept each page aside as her efforts for answers mounted. Efforts that may have given her a glimmer of hope.

Rebecca turned away from the window, crossing the dark room, for her desk. Hours ago, a raven had arrived with a message clamped in its beak. Her slim glimmer of hope. The simple message had cost her dearly; she prayed with every inch of her heart and soul that it would be correct. On the desktop, atop the scrap of parchment, were the two portkeys provided by her secretary. Rebecca scooped up the rings and parchment, crossing the room once more towards the dying fire. With a quick pull of the bell cord, to summon her maid, she glanced once more at the scrap before dropping it into the fading flames. She was leaving nothing to chance, and would observe this place herself.

She would go to Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging herself.

* * *

Rebecca shifted on the branch she was currently perched in, frowning over the ruination of her clothing. Miss Stevenson would make such a fuss of the sap and bark stains marring the fabric. Observing mortals was not as easy as it once was, with how busy the towns had become and the closeness of the houses. It could make a vampire long for the days of paranoia and superstition in the Dark Ages.

The domestic neighborhood she found herself in was not helpful for a lurking vampire like herself. Too many mothers stayed home with their children, gossiping over fences while their men earned their bread. Constant coming and going. A strange woman in the neighborhood would be noticed far too quickly in the daylight. Mortals were such creatures of the day however, which forced Rebecca to her treetop perch. Number 4 Privet Drive of Little Whinging was below her. The lawn was cleanly trimmed and the garden behind the house, though small, was neatly kept and orderly. This was the house of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley and their young son, Dudley, according to her forced informant. Mrs. Petunia Dursley was once known as a Miss Petunia Evans, the elder sister of the late Lily Potter.

Rebecca knew little of Lily's sister; the young woman did not care to speak of her. James never spoke of his in-laws. His face would always turn dark at their mention. All Lily would ever say was, "Petunia hates magic." For Rebecca, this was yet another reason to take Harry home...if he had been brought to his only other family.

Rebecca had suspected, had hoped, that Harry's godfather would have had the boy. But Sirius Black had disappeared and now he was being suspected of such terrible things in those printed rags. The Dursleys, Harry's only mortal relatives, were the second most likely suspects she could think of. If these people did not have the child, the wizards could have placed him anywhere in England.

So she sat and watched the comings and goings of Privet Drive, the milk man making his deliveries, wives kissing their husbands off to work, before walking with children to lessons. She could hear the sounds of a moving truck several houses down; the movers referring to the woman as a Mrs. Figg. It was, overall, a rather routine, mundane street in her opinion. The most curious thing was a tabby cat perched on the garden wall of Privet Drive, hardly moving except to give a glare towards her tree.

Hours passed, yet Rebecca never budged from her lofty perch. Deep within her heart, the hope she arrived with was flickering with each passing hour. She would catch glimpses of Mrs. Dursley through the front window, occasionally with a rather large, blond haired boy in her bony arms, but no sign of her dark haired boy. 

 

As she watched Mr. Dursley return home in his dark purple car from a day of work, Rebecca could feel her hope fading. There had been no sign of Harry in the house in her day of observing. She fiddled with the ring on her finger, identical to the one she destroyed upon arrival, bracing herself for the heartbreak she would face when home and alone. It was as she prepared to activate the portkey it happened. The flame of hope flaring up to engulf her. Petunia opened the front door, not with her large, blond haired son in her arms fighting for another sweet, but a small dark haired boy, quiet and still, wrapped in the very blanket she had wrapped him in only nights before.

* * *

With renewed hope, Rebecca waited as the sun gave way to the moon and the Dursley family settled in for another cold November night. It wouldn’t be long for the two boys, cousins by blood, to be placed in cots to sleep and dream, and the Dursleys to retire as well. She waited and watched for her moment, pondering how she had missed any signs of Harry’s presence in the house. She could hear Mrs. Dursley bustling about her home, cleaning and cooking, spying out the windows on her neighbors. Her son would wail and screech, screaming for a toy or kicking for another sweet. But Harry…from him she heard nothing, sensed nothing.

Her moment came as the owls began their nightly hunt. She watched Number 4 Privet Drive grow dark and still, as each member of the household fell to Morpheus’ charms. She slipped down from the tree, not disturbing the branches around her, and landed gracefully on the ground. Wrapping her cloak around her once more, Rebecca was around to the back door of the small house before that strange tabby cat could look once more towards the tree. She knelt before the door, removing a small vial from the inner pocket of her cloak. Her secretary had provided this potion for her use. Using the dropper, she allowed three drops to fall into the lock. It seemed as though eternity was passing by until she heard the lock click, loosened by the potion. Rebecca rose and pushed open the door only wide enough to slip into the immaculate kitchen.

As she made her way through the Dursley’s kitchen for the stairs just through the door, she could hear their hearts beating, the whisper of their breaths above her. The sounds of their pumping blood an echo in her mind. None of that mattered, as she mounted the carpeted stairs. Only Harry mattered to her.

She stilled on the upper landing, allowing herself a moment to catch her bearings. The doorway across from her she knew to be the master chamber, as she had watched Vernon Dursley close the drapes for the night. To her left, she could hear the innocent breathing of the Dursley boy, which left two more. Closing her eyes, she let the world still around her, allowing instinct to guide her.

She opened her eyes once more after entering the room to her right. Her eyes opened to see the second hand cot, with her boy lying inside.

Lowering her hood, Rebecca approached the cot to peer at the child inside. To her surprise, he was awake and quietly playing with a raggedy stuffed bear. He was quiet, and had not noticed her silent approach. Rebecca felt her lip quiver with joy as she gazed upon his small form once more, fearing it would be a lifetime of searching.

“Harry,” she sighed, her voice a ghostly whisper, a smile gracing her features for the first time since that night. She reached into the cot, running her hand against soft yet unruly hair.

Harry looked up, surprised at her touch, and Rebecca felt her veins fill with ice. His brilliant green eyes, so much like his mother’s, were tinged with red. With hints of fear clutching her heart, Rebecca slowly gathered the child into her arms, giving him an unsteady smile. How had she missed it? All of the signs? She had not heard his heart beating while observing the house, assuming the worst that he was not here. And now, his skin shallow colored and his eyes tinged red…she could see the little pointed teeth in his toothy grin. Harry had been turned.

“Oh my little one,” Rebecca whispered in a voice only he could hear. “Please forgive me,” she asked him, as she smoothed back the hair from his forehead in the same way she did only nights ago. She placed a small kiss on the lightning bolt scar, the once open wound her bleeding hands had tried to clean and cover. Her actions had done this to her boy. _‘James, Lily…forgive me,’_ she silently pleaded.

Reaching into the cot once more, she retrieved the blanket and wrapped him in in. “It will be well, little one,” she whispered to him, nuzzling him close. This changed it all. “Home we shall go, and all will be well.”

“Is that so, Mrs. Potter?”


	4. Home

_“Is that so, Mrs. Potter?”_

Rebecca froze, Harry cradled in her arms as he played with the broach on her lapel in silence. She had been foolish to think no one had been watching her as well; after all she had not been subtle with her questioning. Anyone could have caught wind of her actions and followed her here. After all, the Potter name would turn anyone’s head for years to come. These were dangerous times still, for wizard and vampire alike.

“Well Mrs. Potter?” 

Rebecca’s spine straightened, if such a thing were even possible. With her chin held high, her voice strong with determination even as worry plagued her heart. “He is coming with me. You cannot stop me.” Even as she said it, she could almost hear the silent laughter coming from the figure across from her.

“Now now, you know that I could,” they said, mirth in their tone despite the seriousness of the situation. “And I shall _not_ allow it, madam. You know very well he has no place in our world. He belongs to them,” she continued. With a small shake of their head, the cloth of their hooded cloak rustling they added bitterly, “Their savior, their _precious_ Boy-Who-Lived.”

“He does not belong to them,” Rebecca informed the figure quiet firmly, squaring Harry on her hip. “He is a Potter, he is my blood, _my child_. He is-“

“But does not the blood of this family flow through his veins as well?” They interrupted. Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, she was not accustomed to such rudeness. Such impertinence. “After all, the woman just down the corridor was his mother’s sister. He is now the only thing left of her sister. Perhaps she wishes to keep that connection.”

“Perhaps she is mistaken,” Rebecca nearly hissed. “As you yourself said, ‘ _I shall not allow it_ ’.”

“Rebecca.” The cloaked one was quite firm in tone now. “Harry Potter is a wizard, we have -“

“He is no such thing.” Rebecca interrupted, a small smirk belying her defiance. “He may have magic in his blood, the Gods above know he shall be more powerful than either of his parents, but a wizard he is not. He is beyond that now. He is immortal.”

At this proclamation the cloaked figure threw back their hood, long hair tumbling down shoulders. The sliver of light from the corridor fell across the woman’s face. “Impossible,” she said, her eyes flickering between Rebecca and the child upon her hip. “Your blood is old in his line, long dormant…”

Rebecca watched in silence as the realization spread across the woman’s face, here eyes widening slightly. “What have you done?” She half moaned, her voice catching in her throat. 

“It...it is not how you think,” Rebecca sighed, adjusting Harry as he settled his head upon the crook of her neck. “I had been injured that night. I never intended…I mean…”

“I understand.” She said simply, holding up small hands in a gesture of peace. “What’s done is done, there is nothing we or the wizards can do now. The boy is no longer under their laws and control.” She sighed. “This changes everything.” The woman paused, focusing on the toddler dozing on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You will raise him well, Rebecca Potter, like all the children before him,” she said after a moment. “But these days are still dark, guard him well.” She moved finally from her position behind the door. Rebecca could see the exhaustion in her eyes, her posture, quite well now, the weariness and pondering towards the unknown road.

“What of this family?” Rebecca asked after a moment, holding still to allow the woman to adjust her cloak more secure around herself and the sleeping boy. “The Dursleys. His aunt?”

“Leave them to me.” She said quite simply. “No doubt there will be others as well.” With a sigh she pulled up her hood once more, covering her face from sight. “Go now. Keep him safe; hold him tight.”

———————

With a tired sigh, Rebecca rested her weary bones upon the old rickety chair. It had seen many a years and had been in the family nursery for some time. But the room had been cleaned by the housemaids from top to bottom, the old cot brought out of storage and polished until the rising sun glimmered off the wood. It was old, made with love to protect the sleeping children of her family, and would serve the boy sleeping in her arms quite well. She rocked him gently, watching him sleep in peace with a now fully belly. She had fed him shortly after their arrival and he had practically devoured the bloody mixture. Those poor mortals had no clue what to feed such a young vampire. There was not even the slightest bit of doubt in her mind; little Harry was far better off in her care. But…with a small shift in his sleep, and a slight twist of the ancient golden band upon her finger, she knew their biggest fight was going to begin soon, within their own home. Amadeus had been against her desires from the very beginning, using his own magic to trap her and rip the child from her arms. He would not like this at all.

Rebecca Potter had no doubt whatsoever that she would win this war.

She stood quickly as she heard footsteps in the corridor, placing the sleeping child in the cot. She turned, her voluminous skirts hiding the cot and sleeping child from view, as the door opened slowly, her husband walking in with an unreadable expression upon his face. With quick yet quiet steps. “Good morning, husband,” she greeted with little warmth in her voice. “I have some news for you. Sit, we must talk.


End file.
